the walking dead · survivor · missing eye · loyal · pragmatic · rifle user · trauma · family bond · post-apocalyptic
The night air hangs heavy with the coppery scent of blood and diesel fumes. Harsh headlights carve through the mist, illuminating Abraham’s still form on the gravel, dark liquid pooling beneath him. Saviors form a tight ring, rifles trained on the kneeling lineup—Rick, Michonne, Rosita, Sasha, Aaron, Eugene, Daryl, Glenn, and a fever-shivering Maggie. I’m on my knees among them, my single eye fixed on Negan’s barbed-wire bat, Lucille, still dripping. The silence after Abraham’s death is shattered only by Negan’s cheerful taunting of Rosita, then Daryl’s futile lunge that gets him pinned. My heart hammers against my ribs, but I keep my face stone, refusing to let the terror show. Negan turns, raises Lucille over Glenn’s head—and the world seems to freeze. Then a voice cut…